#vivitanima

DAARIO holds the westerosi windblown defectors at arms length as they turncloak to his stormcrows.  there is a cluster, a woman among them, and he thinks that his queen will find his new additions favorable -- perhaps they can offer her news of the home she has never been to; the home she hopes to reclaim.

HE does not expect to enjoy their company as his men make camp for the night, to enjoy the stories that they need to tell, to laugh so loudly his sides may burst... to look into the dark eyes of the older companion with his dangerous smile and provocative widow’s peak.  daario knows dangerous smiles -- he has one himself -- but he returns it just as easily, raises his chalice to cheers to the newest addition to his men, and takes a generous drink.

WHEN he retires for the night, he is not unaware of his shadow.  when he holds his myrish stilleto to the dornishman’s neck, it is accompanied by his DANGEROUS SMILE and then stifled with a kiss.

HIS stiletto drops to the dirt with a dull thud !!  followed by layers upon layers of daario’s own gaudy clothes and his companion’s.  there is a whirlwind of teeth and tongue and touch.

If her heart had fluttered when she saw him before, it was far worse now. After years of giving him sweet smiles and kind words, it seemed that an outside influence had finally given him the confidence to speak to her at more length and they had shared a few stolen kisses. She stopped in the middle of her chores, carrying a bucket of sheets to be washed and scrubbed at the back of the brothel, to watch as he wandered into Winter Town. She wondered if he had errands to do for true, or if the visit was for her benefit. When their eyes met, Myriam smiled at him, before giving a coy look and carrying on with her work. She adjusted the bucket as it perched on her hip, and walked around the side of the brothel to where the tub of water was, giving him a look over her shoulder as she went. 

name: alannys greyjoy, affectionately nysie; sometimes, just as affectionately, ‘little trout.’ -- named for theon’s mother just as hoster was named for cat’s father. gender: female general appearance: her hair is auburn, her eyes are dark.  her cheeks are often rosy and dusted with freckles.  as nysie gets older, she prefers to wear her hair short, much to catelyn’s chagrin personality: she is a sweet and quiet child, though the more she gets to test the waters, the more adventurous nysie becomes.  she spends most of her childhood holding someone else’s hand, but the first time she gets upon a ship, it’s as if her sea legs had been waiting for her.  there’s a newfound confidence in her -- she wants to see the world, she wants to have adventures; she wants to be like her aunt asha, and sometimes picks up some of her quirks. special talents: boat ropes and needlepoint.  there’s plenty that alannys is skilled in, but she’s proficient in many types of knots, as well as being able to create a rather beautifully detailed pattern from her own mind ( she’s not as great as sansa at it, but she is very good !! ). who they like better: nysie loves both of her parents.  even if her less ladylike qualities exasperate catelyn, she still finds herself curled up at her mother’s side, head resting upon her shoulder as she watches her do her needlepoint or whatnot.  she has her father wrapped around her finger though, there’s very little wrong nysie can do in theon’s eyes. who they take after more: theon; she has much of his recklessness and sometimes doesn’t know her own limits. personal head canon: when she was small, nysie would pretend to fall asleep at feasts and meals so that someone would have to carry her back to bed.  usually, she would curl up upon catelyn’s lap and listen to all of the grown-ups talk.  her favorite was when robb would carry her back, usually causing her to giggle because he saw through her otherwise convincing display of sleep.  he will tell her stories of his father carrying him back to his bed, when he was little too.  not many people speak of lord eddard to her, directly, but robb does. face claim: luca hollestelle ??

"IS that some southron saying ??” ygritte asks, a grin upon her face though it does not wholly touch her eyes.  the only way they could make it through was to denounce their gods, to accept some fire lord or be fed to flames.  but she should have died THAT night, her last thought of jon even despite his BETRAYAL. “are you the empire and i the ocean, jon snow ??”

name: alaric stark; often called the lion in wolf’s clothing, though never to his face. gender: male general appearance: brown hair and grey-green eyes.  he has the traditional, long stark face.  alaric is tall and boxy; square, broad shoulders  grown, his beard is flecked with lighter strands.  as a child, his hair was lighter, almost blond, but darkened with age.  he is most memorable, in his childhood, for usually having a tooth missing -- and always smiling rather wide so that everyone was aware of it. personality: alaric is boisterous and proud, and a bit of a show-off.  many things come naturally to him, so he gets frustrated when he has to work harder for something.  he is fiercely protective of his younger siblings; family means very much to him.  he tends to do things in extremes: when he’s happy, he’s happy, but when he’s mad, he’s mad. special talents: alaric can do cartwheels.  he learned from his uncle gerion when he came to visit north before disappearing.  alaric practiced every day of his uncle’s visit, and can still do it even as an adult -- he has always been a show off, and so he does show off at any chance he gets. on the rare occasion that he is with his lannister cousins, he jokes that he and tyrion could become a traveling acrobatics act; if it weren’t so beneath their stations. who they like better: it’s a tie.  though alaric is absolutely a mama’s boy, he does everything in his power to make his father proud of him. who they take after more: genna.  he doesn’t mind his tongue and is the life of the party. personal head canon: alaric nearly died as a child from a fever.  he was bedridden for a week while genna was pregnant with one of his younger siblings.  one night, barely coherent, he dragged himself from his bed and made his way to father’s chambers -- though genna was the more affectionate parent, he had a strange thought that he father would keep him safe.  he curled himself against rickard’s back, and when he awoke the next day, his fever had finally broken. face claim: clive standen ??  maybe ??

He had made the journey a few times in his life, although admittedly it was more usual for his grandparents to travel to Winterfell rather than the other way around. He enjoyed the freedom of Winter’s Keep, however, for there was less hustle and bustle, and it pleased him to have lesser known lands to explore. He was near a man grown now, and his father had relented to letting him and Jon travel there on their own. It was not so very far away, but it felt freeing to travel unaccompanied. Lord Rickard and Lady Lyarra were pleased to see them, as they usually were, and he and his brother enjoyed being rather spoiled as guests while there. His suspicions arose a little one morning, however, when his grandfather asked if he’d like to go for a ride, but his grandmother requested that Jon stay with her for some task she had in mind. It happened on occasion at home, too, with his father, and usually meant he was going to learn a private lesson about lordship and the like. It was not his idea of a morning well spent, but it would be at least a little interesting of hearing such things from his grandfather for a change. 

WOULD that that were true.  catelyn hates herself for the thought that passes through her heart, the flutter of raven’s wings delivering her a message of her demise ( that would have, perhaps, been a kindness, rather than the babe presented and the swell of shame needed to be masked so instantly ).  the stain upon her marriage, the ever present sliver of doubt who resembles her husband’s face far more than his own trueborn sons.

CATELYN had tried; she had so WANTED to try, to be the mother that that boy had needed, but the thought of his real mother boiled something foul within her and she could not bring herself to do so.  she could not bring herself to love him, as she had brought herself to love her husband who had brought the wedge between them at the very start of their marriage to begin with.  surely, it is not the boy’s fault but catelyn cannot help but blame him for her embarrassment; an ever-present reminder to doubt ned’s feelings for her.

ROBB bristles at the words, at the grin upon his oldest friend’s face; at the heaviness of the crown that sits atop his head.  he likes the idea of marrying his mother to theon no more than he likes the thought of his father’s last moments -- of sansa being there to bear witness; of what weight now lays with robb for it.  but his mother, at the very least, she can continue to LIVE, and this, although perhaps indirectly, is her suggestion to begin with.  it is his lady mother’s mistrust of theon and the greyjoys which now has her as theon’s bride, a truce made so that, though robb’s trust in him had been unwavering, there is no room now for any DOUBT.

NO, it is not doubt that settles in robb’s chest as he sits alone with theon after the rest of his council had dispersed, it is irritation.